i relive you again, and again


a chapel in half-light, and
i have never felt
so safe

(nor quite so close,
and it was in that chapel where i was first
victimized by a deceptively different
layer of hushed sugarcoated whispers
and dramatic irony)

you were so full of fervor, of forever


the word "never" has never been so inviting
and neither have i

and the air surrounding the couch
is embedded in the same atmospheric particulates,
no matter how many wicks of scented candles sacrifice their being,
no matter how many chords pierce the oxygen in the vicinity,

no matter how many words you say with no hint of august


you and i,
and hundreds of other people
screamed with them that night

and no foreshadowing through musical wisdom
could make me stray, make me deviate from wonderful routine

(they warned me that night

you swore i wasn't your rough draft,
and i listened too well)


november and december were filler months,

strained at capacity with memories so equally special
to the point of no distinctiveness

each day was a repeat of the previous
with feigned safety reminiscent of the chapel

but those were the months in which
i could not claim loneliness,
save for every day but sunday


a ring has no end

it is simply circular,
another symbol of perpetual motion

(but the same beauty,
if repetitively adored by the same eyes,
can become the background to new things)

with broken solitude i ventured into new territory,
a happiness so unfamiliar,
so blindingly bright and attractive
that i could not keep away,
although i tried


words are not nearly enough, but for what they're worth,
i could have stayed there forever

it was a love so insatiable that
only more time would suffice,
and each second was saturated with more indescribable bliss,
an elation that would render all others anticlimactic

this is the euphoria
that only you and i have experienced to this degree

(dramatic irony, i meet you once more)


there was something missing,
a vivacity i tried to resurrect

but it was an emptiness that dodged all reminders
and i, so influenced by the delusion of routine,
waved it off as a minor obstacle,
a temporary pause of emotion

(and if you had told me that every time was the last time,
i would not have believed you)


in one second the last thread connecting me to sanity was severed,
and i, gasping and shivering, clinged to the remnants of forever

it was so surreal, caustic once more
and even inhalation delivered inexhaustible pain


apathy was a welcome break from emotion
but in place of it was usually a combination of aforementioned inexhaustible pain
and promised hope,
the kind that will either keep things alive or kill

and no matter how many times you tell me,
i will never learn


this is the last poem i will write for you
on the last morning i will wake with my face burning from salt

this is the last defeat,
for there is nothing of me that i can offer to you
that you do not already have

this is the last time hope will impede the perception of reason,
the last escape into reality i will suffer through

and no amount of paint, time, or miles

will make me understand.

(my love,
i am a memory to you now,
but perhaps one day you will chance upon me in your mind
and remember the times when we overpowered reality